


Simpler Times

by Exaggerated_Specificity



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Doppelganger, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Underage Relationship(s), Incest, M/M, Shapeshifting, Sibling Incest, Supernatural Reverse Big Bang Challenge 2013, Unrequited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-28
Updated: 2014-01-28
Packaged: 2018-01-09 23:33:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1152146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Exaggerated_Specificity/pseuds/Exaggerated_Specificity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's 2006.  A creature from Scottish mythology has emerged from the deep, dark waters of the Hudson River and is dragging people to their deaths.  The boys take the case but the monster’s magic is more powerful than they bargained for.  What was supposed to be a routine salt and burn quickly becomes a turning point for Sam and Dean.</p>
<p>This is my entry for the <a href="http://spn-reversebang.livejournal.com/">spn-reversebang 2013</a> on Live Journal.  My artist was the amazing <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/cybel/pseuds/cybel">Cybel</a>, art post is <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1157010">HERE</a>.</p>
<p>Masterpost on LJ is here:  <a href="http://gojyochan.livejournal.com/8793.html">http://gojyochan.livejournal.com/8793.html</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Simpler Times

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: This was my first [spn_reversebang](http://spn-reversebang.livejournal.com/) and my artist [Cybel](http://cybel.livejournal.com/) was fantastic! The prompt was a beautiful piece that just screamed out early season 'casefic' and I was allowed to pursue my idea without any restrictions. Great working with you love!
> 
> Thanks: [Liz](http://righteousbros.livejournal.com/) was my beta again for this challenge (HOORAY! I'm so lucky you guys) and, as always, she has my undying gratitude for being an amazing help and inspiration. [Michelle](http://melungeoned.livejournal.com/) my sweet, what would I do without you? When I signed up for this challenge I wasn't even sure if I could meet the deadline but you constantly inspired me to keep going!  
> I'd also like to thank Angie, a dear friend who gave me some really helpful notes as well. Finally, a huge thank you to spn_reversebang and its mods for all their hard work in making this HUGE challenge happen.

  


  
~Late May 2006~

  
“I found something, Dean.” Sam didn’t look up from his laptop as he gave his brother the details. “I’m pretty sure it’s a Scottish water spirit, a shape shifter. Nine, no wait, eight people have died or gone missing. One got away injured. The survivor is just a kid, thirteen. He told the paper something tried to drag him into the river. It doesn’t look like the authorities have linked all the cases together but I think they’re connected and you can bet no one is listening to what that kid says he saw.”

Dean listened wearily to Sam, gnawing what was left of his last BBQ rib. The sun had set in the hour or so since they pulled into the diner just outside Cape Girardeau, Missouri where they just wrapped a case involving Dean’s ex-girlfriend Cassie and her family. The amber light of the sunset that filled the restaurant when they arrived had faded and the flickering fluorescents didn’t quite illuminate the entirety of the corner booth they occupied. Sam’s face glowed blue in the light reflected off his laptop screen. He had barely touched his food, too eager to get back on the road and onto another case.

Their visit to Missouri had been intense for Dean and he was ready to get immersed in work again too even though this new case was already sounding less than painless. He and Sam were on the same page again, both agreeing to keep working cases instead of looking for their father, and Sam was funneling his desire to get revenge on whatever killed Jessica back into hunting.

Dean didn’t mind helping his brother navigate his recent bouts of angst but at the moment he was feeling weighed down with his own emotional burdens, especially after seeing Cassie. He shrugged and responded to Sam after a lengthy pause that his brother didn’t seem to notice.

“You have got to be kidding me. Another water thing? Great. Lake Manitoc all over again.” The memory of diving into the murky blackness of that Wisconsin lake to save Lucas’s life was all too fresh in Dean’s mind and he shivered with the sense memory.

“This is different, Dean. First of all, it’s a river not a lake. The Hudson River in New York State. Second, no one is drowning. At least they don’t appear to be. More like, I dunno, sacrifices or something? People keep going missing near the water. They’ve found livers and hearts of a few of the victims wash up on shore. The most recent incident seems to be the one with this kid but he’s the only record of a survivor I can find. I think we should check it out.”

“New York, huh? That’s a helluva drive, Sam. Are you sure about this? I mean what’s a Scottish river monster doing in New York anyway?”

“I don’t know, but the Celts weren’t the only ones with legends like this. I found accounts of water-based shape shifters in Germany, Russia. A lot of the legends are the same. I mean, they all have their own local flavor but there are common threads in a lot of this lore. I don’t see why something like that couldn’t exist in the states. Here, listen to this,” Sam squinted down at the laptop screen and started reading aloud to Dean, “The kelpie is said to haunt the rivers of Scotland. It can take many forms and has an insatiable appetite for human flesh. Ok, so it’s not sacrifices. Anyway, its most common guise is that of a beautiful, tame horse, that stands riverside as a tempting ride for weary travelers. It has pale blue eyes and skin that is inky black, wet, and leathery – like that of a whale – peppered with barnacles. Its wavy grey mane and tail are interwoven with seaweed and kelp strands and it constantly drips water. Once it lures its prey into mounting its back, the creature’s skin becomes adhesive, trapping the rider. The kelpie drags the victim into the water, drowning and consuming them, leaving behind only the liver or other organs.” Sam chewed his lip pensively. “It doesn’t like organ meat. Huh. Maybe the iron…” His voice trailed off and he clicked around a bit more on the computer.

“So you’re telling me nine freakin’ people saw that scary ass sea horse you just described and decided to hop on for a ride? What the hell were they smoking? If I saw something like that I’d run the other damn direction.”

“See, that’s the thing. Remember, I said it was a shape shifter?”

“Jesus, could this case get any more complicated?” Dean didn’t like the sound of this at all. Sam resumed reading from the website.  
“Kelpies have powerful magic and are able to create illusions to keep themselves hidden both in the water and on land. If the form of a horse isn’t practical, they can shift into a human form to lure people to their deaths. Their grip is like a vice, crushing the life out of anybody unfortunate enough to fall into the kelpie’s clutches.”

“Does it mention how the hell we’re supposed to kill it?” Dean sighed, resigned to the hunt. He couldn’t believe he was agreeing to go swimming again so soon.

Sam’s brow was furrowed as he kept up his search. After a bit more digging he replied.

“Sounds like my hunch about the iron was right. Just found a story of a blacksmith making these huge iron hooks, heating them up, and baiting them with a roast sheep. Seemed to do the trick. Apparently the thing turns into a pile of jelly once it’s dead.”

“Yum.” Dean pushed his plate to the other side of the table, curling his lip in disgust. “Well, at least there won’t be much left to salt and burn.” He shrugged. They were taking the case. Sam had that distant, intense look in his eyes again. It was best to keep him on the move and avoid dwelling on Dad and Jess.

“Let’s hit the road, Sammy. I’d be lying if I said I was gonna miss much about Missouri besides the BBQ. I’m drivin’.” Dean grabbed the keys off the table and headed over to the counter to pay before Sam could bring up Cassie. Dean absently licked the smoky-sweet barbecue sauce off his lips, half wishing he could still taste Cassie there instead.  
Once they were back on the highway, Sam folded up his jacket and tucked it between his head and the window. Dean was well rested and felt confident he could put a sizeable dent in their drive before having to let Sam take over at the wheel. As he left Sam to doze, Dean realized the quiet would be both a blessing and a curse, leaving him alone with his thoughts and nothing but a solid 16 hour drive ahead of him. Resigned to his fate, Dean pointed the car east and turned on the stereo, keeping the volume low so his brother could rest.

With open highway stretched out before him, Zeppelin pouring out of the speakers, and the rumble of the impala beneath him, Dean was normally able to relax but he hadn’t felt this raw and self-aware in a long time. On one hand, he and Sam had only been hunting together again for a short time but their brotherly bond had returned and they were in synch. They were communicating well since reconnecting at the orchard and he could feel their strength as a team growing with each case they completed. Unfortunately, spending the last few days with his ex-girlfriend dredged up many emotions Dean had buried dark and deep.

Dean started dating Cassie during a very bleak and vulnerable point in his life. He had been hunting alone at the time, only catching up with John every once and a while, and his relationship with Sam was virtually non-existent. While Sam was away at Stanford, their bond was strained to say the least. Dean tried to stay in touch as best he could but losing his only friend and confidant was tough, especially since John had become increasingly temperamental and reckless after his youngest son left the family business for college.

Tensions between Dean and his father ran high in the weeks after Sam left and the unspoken elephant in the room was the Sam-shaped hole let in both their lives. Sam didn’t know it but he was what John and Dean worked so hard every day to protect. All the blood, sweat, and pain was worth it if it kept their intelligent, sweet, innocent boy safe. Without Sam there John’s temper was short and his rage seemed to bubble over into everything. Unfortunately, that anger was often aimed at Dean. John was drinking more so Dean did too and eventually it all came to a head. John bought the Sierra Grande from Bobby less than six months after Sam moved to Palo Alto and they started splitting the caseload.

Being alone had been a new experience for Dean. He was cavalier on the surface, hustling pool and shacking up with random strangers from time to time for the comfort of a warm body in his bed. The voices in his head were too loud for sober living and without Sam or John to take care of the young hunter felt adrift. He drowned the emotions in bittersweet amber booze and did his best not to think about Sam.

A word crystallized in Dean’s mind when he felt his heart ache for his brother: codependency. The shrink that processed him for juvie before his stint at the boys’ home used the term flippantly but Dean had never let it go. His cheeks burned thinking of the desperate, hot tears in his eyes and the way his voice cracked as his sixteen-year-old self pled to the buttoned-up caseworker. He tried to convince her that Sammy needed him and that he couldn’t afford to be locked up for shoplifting. She just shook her head ruefully and told him that codependency wasn’t healthy, that he and Sam would be better off if they spent some time apart. The deep, dark, rotting part of him that was ashamed of his true feelings for Sam knew she was right and he gave into the tears as she pushed her glasses up her nose and scratched more notes in her report.  
That part of Dean was relieved when Sam left for college, despite how lonely it was without him. He had known for years that Sam meant more to him than he probably should have but the feelings didn’t truly sink their tendrils into his heart until puberty hit. The boys’ deep connection had given them strength in childhood but as their bodies blossomed their proximity led to a blurring of lines.

Dean had abandoned any concept of God by the time he was five and yet he couldn’t help but wonder at times if he was being tested by a higher power. So many nights of his youth were spent lying in guilt-ridden agony, hard to the point of pain, with his sweaty teenage brother whimpering innocently in his sleep next to him, testing every fiber of Dean’s humanity.

Dean knew it was his fault ultimately, he was weak and Sam grew up so wanton, so eager to please. Sharing the same space, sharing the same bed, and never forming any other lasting relationships all built up and came to a tipping point. What were once just wet dreams for Dean turned into late night indiscretions, illicit kisses, and drunken rutting mutually forgotten in the morning. It went on longer than Dean really wanted to admit. He regretted those times and punished himself over those memories consciously and subconsciously for years even though he never brought it up again with Sam.

The conflict in Dean ran deep. John and Sam were like oil and water for most of Sam’s formative years. Dean wanted to be there for his brother; his rock, his safety, his support. Even if Sam meant more to him than that, Dean knew he had to beat those feelings down, be stronger than his desires.

Sam leaving for Stanford meant Dean didn’t have to bury those strangled night time fantasies under meaningless one night stands, false bravado, and far more whiskey than his young liver deserved to handle. Sadly, Dean’s coping mechanisms were ill prepared. Sam leaving meant Dean no longer had to fight what his heart wanted but it also meant he lost his only friend.

Meeting Cassie in Ohio probably saved Dean’s life. What could have been just another pit stop along Dean’s highway of weekend romances had flourished into something more. Cassie’s intelligence, passion, and beauty had been able to cut through Dean’s bullshit façade. She provided clarity and stability and became a confidant for Dean that, for the first time in his life, wasn’t Sam. She helped Dean figure out how to compartmentalize his questionable feelings for his brother, even forget them for a while. She showed him that he could care for someone else and get something back emotionally from someone that wasn’t his blood.

Their relationship burned with a passion that helped scorch away the cold, clinging, dark feelings that had tormented him for so long. Her fire licked deep into his heart until he was ready to tell her everything if it meant that fire could help burn the darkness away. They fought like wildcats and fucked like heathens but in the end, even after telling Cassie the truth about the family business, he couldn’t be completely honest with her.

That guarded, secret place in his heart, that crack down the center of his soul, the part of him that would always yearn and ache for Sam kept Dean from being truly present in the relationship. She may have been the one to give Dean walking papers but, in the end, it was Dean’s fault. He couldn’t let Sam go and he knew that deep down that he didn’t want to. Even if they couldn’t be together in the way he wanted.

It wasn’t long after that when John went missing and Dean really did need his brother again. He tried to find reasons not to involve Sam but it felt as if a magnet in his chest was drawing him closer to Stanford every day. It all happened so fast. Before he knew it, they were fighting in Sam’s living room and his gorgeous, brilliant brother was actually agreeing to go on a hunt with him. Leave that beautiful, soft girl of his behind and go back into the pit with his brother.

Dean had spent years away from Sam licking his wounds, healing on the surface. He told himself it would be okay, that he could do it, no matter what. Their first night back on the road together Dean looked himself in the mirror, stone cold sober, and made himself a promise. He couldn’t, he wouldn’t, ever let his true feelings for Sam be known. He would never touch his brother like that ever again. He wouldn’t disfigure desire into jealously or resentment. He would not let his sickness impact his relationship with Sam.

Dean had grown older, more disciplined. He knew he was strong and that he could kill any monster thrown at him. If he could take down that kind of evil, he could beat this thing too. They’d find their dad, and the son of a bitch that killed their mom, and they’d make it suffer the way they had suffered all these years. Then, Sam could go back and finish his degree, meet a nice girl, get fat, happy, and rich living somewhere peaceful, safe, and clean. After that was done, Dean could finally let it all go. He knew he could put those feelings behind him if Sam were truly happy. Even if it mean that Dean couldn’t be a part of his life.

In the meantime, the arrangement worked – on the surface anyway. Dean was a twisted mess inside but he had years of experience putting up a strong front. He was just so damned happy to have Sam back by his side that he was willing to do almost anything to keep the fiend inside him at bay. Most days it wasn’t even that hard to pretend that his deep, dark secret wasn’t there. Dean defaulted to his frat-boy tendencies, practical jokes, indulging in food, drink, and women when he was feeling weak, leaving Sammy stewing in his research and revenge. When Dean glanced over at his brother sleeping peacefully by his side in the Impala he knew it was worth it.

Hours passed and Dean had gotten them nearly halfway to their destination. He stopped for gas without really paying attention to where they were. He was too strung out from the lack of sleep and the dark thoughts that plagued him and needed Sam to take over at the wheel, badly.

After taking a leak and paying for the tank of gas, Dean discovered that, ironically, they were in Ohio – where he met Cassie. He cursed quietly to himself before heading back to the Impala. He could still smell her hair and feel her supple caramel skin under his palms. God, he missed her if he was honest, but he knew he was too twisted and broken to ever go back into the arms of that gorgeous, golden creature. This was all shit Dean really didn’t want to think about. It was like this whole case was shaping up to be a cruel joke and Dean was the punch line.

Sam was already in the driver’s seat when Dean returned to the car. The incidents Sam pieced together in his research took place along a 30 mile stretch of river between Peekskill and Newburgh, New York. That stretch of the Hudson was peppered with historic sites, bed and breakfasts, and heavily forested patches of national park. The river there was particularly deep, over 200 feet near West Point, and there were stories of all kinds of supernatural activity in the surrounding towns tracing back to the revolutionary war. Dean mused at how they had managed to never end up in the area before.

They decided to hone in on Cold Spring, New York where the most recent attack had happened and where the lone survivor, Travis Summer, lived. The town of just under 2,000 people was picture postcard perfect with a quaint main street lined with brick and ivy. There weren’t many motels or motor lodges in the area and the boys needed a place to set up shop for their investigation. Tourists preferred to stay in the quaint bed and breakfasts that were a dime a dozen in this part of New York State but that really didn’t suit their needs. Dean’s good sense of direction finally guided them into the gravel parking lot of the Countryside Motel out on Route Nine, around ten minutes from Cold Spring and five miles or so from the Hudson riverbank. The accommodations weren’t ideal by any stretch of the imagination but there weren’t any other options that would work at the moment. Sam and Dean changed into their FBI gear and headed over to Main Street.

They agreed that their best source of info was Travis himself. The local authorities had yet to link Travis’s case with ones that had taken place in nearby municipalities so they probably wouldn’t be much help. They would interview the kid and hit up the local police afterward to get a handle on what other evidence they might have obtained. A quick call to Travis’s school confirmed that he was still at home recovering from the incident.

Travis’s family lived around the corner from an English tea shoppe and an antiques dealer, near the center of town. The small bungalow-style home was set back from the street by a large yard and a white picket fence, right out of a Norman Rockwell painting.

“Hello, Ms. Summer. I’m agent Brody and this is my partner agent Hooper. We’re with the FBI. We were hoping to talk to your son about what happened.” Dean flashed his fake badge and kept his eyes serious. He knew two of the kid’s friends had died and the newspaper articles had not given a full picture of Travis’s own injuries. This family had been dealt some serious trauma.

The petite brunette nodded and cast her eyes down as she let Sam and Dean into the foyer. The newspaper article said she was a widow. Travis’s father had owned a local boat charter business and perished in a boating accident a few years before. She was putting on a strong face for them but Dean could see in her eyes that she was tired and close to giving up.

“We’re sorry to have to make you go through all of this again, ma’am but we would really like to get to the bottom of this, prevent others from being hurt.” Sam used a soothing tone as she motioned them to the hallway.

“Sure, I understand. It’s just… I have to warn you, it’s a pretty farfetched story.” She folded her arms and sighed, sounding very resigned. The police in Cold Spring had likely not been kind to Travis or his mother if the description he gave was anything like the legends Sam found on the internet.  
“There’s not much we haven’t heard, ma’am. That’s sort of what brought this case to our attention. We’ll be sure to look into it, no matter what.” Sam’s reassurance seemed to help.

“Go on in, he’s awake. Last door on the left.”

Dean led the way down the narrow, powder blue hallway. He knocked softly before slowly opening the door.

“Travis?” He made eye contact with the boy and smiled, hoping to break the ice. “Your mom said we could ask you a few questions. My name’s Dean, this is Sam.” Dean glanced at Sam over his shoulder as they entered the bedroom and shut the door.

Travis was small and tan, much like his mother. He was sitting up in his bed with blankets pulled up to his waist. He had on a pale grey tee-shirt and his right arm was completely bandaged and in a sling. He had soft, mousy brown hair that spilled over his ears and across his forehead framing his dark, wide eyes. He regarded Sam and Dean wearily but nodded and licked his lips, looking down at his bandaged forearm before cradling it closer to his body like the memory of what happened was causing him physical pain.

Sam sat on the small rolling desk chair in the corner and Dean sat down delicately on the end of the boys’ pine-framed twin bed.

“We haven’t talked to the local police yet, Travis. We wanted to hear the story from you first. I know people around here probably think your story’s pretty farfetched but, I promise, you can tell us. We just want to catch the thing that hurt you and killed your friends, ok?” Dean had a track record of being pretty good with kids so he was hopeful Travis would open up. “Just take your time. Start at the beginning. What were you guys doing by the river?”

Travis opened his mouth to speak but he had to clear his throat to get the first of the words out. He’d obviously told this story before but he was still in a lot of pain – both mentally and physically.

“They were just some guys from my youth group. Dan and Ian. I didn’t even know them that well. We were supposed to be doing bible study after school but it’s been really warm here lately and I know this great spot down by the river so I offered to show them.” The boy’s guilt was clear in his voice. Sam and Dean listened patiently as he waded through the emotions.

“See, I’m an Eagle Scout and I like to hike and stuff. There’s this rock outcropping with good fishing and it’s a really fun place to dive. It’s been so hot. We were gonna jump in some, I guess.”

“Is this a place you could show us on a map, Travis?” Sam inquired softly.

“Uh, sure. I guess. I mean I showed the police before but mom said they didn’t find anything.” Travis had a hard time maintaining eye contact and cradled his injured arm with his other one, curling his body around the damaged limb protectively.  
“You have to hike through the trees for a while, it’s over on federal land or something so there aren’t any trails. We got to the spot I was thinking of and there’s kind of a clearing, you know? There was this thing…” Travis looked out the window. His brown eyes had gone distant, reflecting the grey light from the overcast sky.

“It was like a horse. I mean it was a horse, it looked exactly like a horse, but it was weird. I could tell something was wrong. The hackles on the back of my neck stood up as soon as I saw it. But Dan and Ian got really excited and it didn’t get spooked when it saw us so they decided to try and, uh, catch it.”

“Are there any horses in this area normally, Travis?” Dean asked. He liked this kid, he had good instincts. There was no way Dean would just walk up to some large animal that seemed so out of place either.

“Um, I don’t know. I mean there are there are some farms out off Route Nine but I go hiking in those woods all the time and I’ve never seen any, especially not on the loose. I’ve never seen a horse that looked like that either. It was really big and it was black and kind of shiny, like it was wet or something. It sorta looked like it had moss growing in its mane and tail. I thought maybe it came out of the river but the shore’s really rocky and steep over there, that’s why it’s so good for diving and fishing. I have no idea how a horse would get out of the river in that spot.”

“What made you think it came out of the water, Travis?” Sam asked, clearly fascinated by the boy’s tale.

“That’s where it took them… Dan and Ian. It dragged them into the river.” Travis’ voice was haunted and shaky with fear.

“I’m sorry, man. I know this is hard. But we need to know a little more. How did it happen?” Dean tried to reassure Travis, patting the boy’s narrow shin through the comforter.

“It was so stupid. I should have stopped them… I could tell a storm was coming in and I had this really bad feeling but Dan’s dad is from Texas and they used to raise horses back home so he wanted to try and ride it. He told Ian and I to stand on either side of the clearing and said we should grab its mane if it tried to buck him off. I tried to tell him it was a bad idea but it was like he couldn’t see it. I mean, it had seaweed in its hair and its eyes were like a blind person’s, all milky and pale but he still wanted to ride…” Travis gulped and paused. He was worrying his lip between his teeth and absent-mindedly plucking at the fringe on the blanket.

“Dan did it anyway. He ran up really fast, grabbed onto its neck, and jumped up. The horse was so big but he did it, he pulled himself up on its back. It stopped grazing and snorted and stamped around, just shaking its head back and forth. I guess Ian thought it was going to buck Dan off or something so he grabbed it too. He ran up and put his hands on its neck and mane…” Dean glanced over at Sam and they both nodded at Travis reassuringly.

“It reared up and it made this sound, like a neigh but it was so loud it made my ear drums hurt. They were screaming, Dan and Ian. I didn’t understand why, I mean the horse wasn’t really doing anything but then it started to run toward the water. Ian got pulled up off his feet and I tried to grab for Dan but as soon as my hand touched the horse it was stuck. It hurt so much…”

“Wait, your hand got stuck? Like to its skin?” Sam looked at Dean as they both recalled the chilling detail of the kelpie’s adhesive hide.

“Yeah, I grabbed Dan’s leg but the side of my hand and my pinky touched the horse. God, it burned so much… I couldn’t pull it away.”

“How did you get away from it, Travis?” Dean looked down at the boy’s bandaged arm and cringed to think about it.

“It happened so fast, I don’t even remember doing it, but I had my Swiss army knife in my pocket… The horse started galloping right toward the part I like to dive off of, it’s like a cliff. It was going to take us all over the edge so I had to,” Travis gazed down at his bandaged hand, “it was so easy… Didn’t even hurt that bad at first. I didn’t realize what I had really done until I got back to the road…”

“Travis, did you cut off your own finger to get away from it?” Sam asked, wide eyed.

“Yeah. My pinky. I guess they looked for it but couldn’t find anything. I lost a lot of blood…” Travis’ eyes were wet but he hadn’t shed a single tear telling the story. He was a tough kid. Dean stood up and rested his hand on Travis’ shoulder. He looked him in the eyes and smiled.  
“I’m sorry about your friends, Travis but that was a very brave thing you did. It saved your life. Most people can’t think on their feet like that. Keep up with the scouting stuff, okay? You can’t learn things like that in a classroom.” Dean patted him on the back. “And, uh, take care of your mom, okay?”

Travis looked up at Dean, the faintest hint of pride beaming through the pain and sadness in his eyes. Sam walked over with the map of the Hudson River Valley he had snagged from the motel lobby.

“Can you show me where it happened?” Sam handed him the map and bent over to look at the spot he pointed to. “Thanks, Travis. We’re going to stop this thing so it doesn’t hurt anyone else. Thank you for being so brave and telling us all the details.”

Travis nodded squarely and managed a small smile before Sam and Dean headed back to the living room. They thanked Ms. Summer and walked back over to Main Street where they had parked the Impala.

“Let’s hit up the local PD. Once we’re done we can go change and find the place Travis showed me on the map. It’s still early enough.” Sam said.

Dean agreed and drove them back to the small, brick police station they’d passed on their way to the Summer residence. Cold Spring’s finest weren’t exactly on their game. Other than a few pictures of the crime scene that hadn’t made it online, their time at the station didn’t yield any more clues. The cops weren’t aware of the other cases and, as Sam had assumed earlier, the police thought Travis was making up the stuff about the kelpie to avoid getting in trouble. They were about to close the case, chalking it all up to a very tragic accident involving a group of stoned teenagers.

They drove back to the motel to change out of their fed suits. Dean couldn’t shake the sense of foreboding as he leaned against the Impala and watched the storm clouds churning in the distance as Sam chatted away with the motel manager. The man knew the area well and was helping Sam look over the map to figure out the best way for them to get into the woods.

Travis reminded Dean so much of Sam at that age. He was intrepid, wise beyond his years, and eager to make connections with people around him even if he really didn’t fit in. All of Dean’s brotherly instincts were kicking in and that made the desperate fire burning inside him even harder to manage.

He glanced back at Sam through the office window to check on his progress and got stuck staring, lost in Sam’s effortless smile. His dimples made him look boyish and innocent as he kept pushing his too-long bangs back off his brow. Dean was in deep and he didn’t know how much longer he could keep the darkness buried. The jingle of the bells over the motel door jarred him back into reality, causing him to jump and clear his throat nervously.

“Are you sure you’re up for this right now, man?” Sam eyed Dean closely. “You seem… off. That stuff with Travis really hit a nerve, huh?”

Dean nodded minutely and shrugged, turning around to get in the driver’s seat.

“The sooner we go out there, the sooner we can catch this son of a bitch. Let’s go, I’m fine.” Dean hated how much he sounded like John these days.

The sky had been dreary and overcast all day. Dean couldn’t help feel as if he had brought the storm clouds with him. They arrived during an unseasonably warm spell but now the threat of rain seemed ever present. They were headed to a place on the Cold Spring side of the Hudson, just south of Foundry Cove. It was known as Constitution Island even though the small patch of earth was now connected to the main land by natural marshes and train tracks. The clearing where the incident happened was actually part of West Point Military Academy land and was only used for training exercises. It was remote and the closest spot to park was in a quiet residential neighborhood near the edge of the marsh, at least a mile from the edge of the woods.

Their route was made easier by the train tracks but they kept to the tree line, not wanting any attention from rail workers or tourists if a train should pass. Dean let Sam lead the way with his map, trailing behind with the pack he had filled with items from the trunk. Dean believed in being over prepared in the event they actually spotted the kelpie. They still didn’t have a ton of info on what they could use to kill it so he had loaded up on everything imaginable which made the pack heavier and more awkward than it probably needed to be. Dean grunted as he adjusted the shoulder strap and kept trudging along the too-soft ground. He kept an eye on the clouds and swore the rolling grey was pacing them as they neared the water.

The rest of the hike took them through dense trees and rocky terrain. A gentle drizzle started once they entered the woods and, by the time they made it to the clearing where Travis and his friends had met the kelpie, the thunderstorm had closed in and it was raining heavily.

They split up to cover more ground. Dean had no idea what they were looking for shy of the monster itself, or maybe the boy’s desiccated finger, but he followed the edge of the clearing across to the rocky outcropping that overlooked the river. Dean shielded his face from the rain which was now falling sideways in the violent gusts of wind. He peered over the edge and saw how truly steep the drop was. There was no way any actual livestock could have made it to this area – it was challenging enough for two able-bodied men. The drop down was about six feet, not enough to kill someone outright unless they hit a rock the wrong way, but the water below was churning and black, kicked up by the wind and the rain. Dean found it hard to imagine the spot on a clear, sunny day. He could barely see three inches in front of his face and they were losing the light, fast. He looked up to find Sam standing near the edge looking down into the water as well.

“There’s no use searching in this shit, Sam!” Dean yelled. The rain was falling in sheets and the thunder and wind buffeted his ear drums. Sam appeared to nod at Dean from under his jacket that he had pulled up over his head into a makeshift hoodie. Dean couldn’t tell for sure that Sam was in agreement but he’d be damned if he was going to spend another minute out in this weather. There was no sign of the creature or any evidence that could help their search.

Dean did an about face and headed back to place they had entered the clearing. It would probably take twice as long to hike back given the poor visibility. He was soaked to the bone and not happy about the prospect of climbing into Baby in his current condition. There was a blanket in the trunk but he was so wet it probably wouldn’t be enough to rescue the upholstery.

The entire trek back they pushed against the wind and torrent of rain. Dean kept his arm across his eyes and hunched his shoulders down but the journey still took over an hour. Dean checked a few times to make sure Sam was behind him but otherwise remained focused on getting them out of the woods and away from the storm. Once Dean spotted the Impala he doubled his speed, making a bee-line for the trunk. He shoved the soaked pack full of weapons inside and retrieved the scratchy wool military-issue blanket that had been collecting mold back there for years.

Dean covered the driver’s seat with it as best he could and climbed inside before the wind blew in enough rain to flood the floorboards. Dean could barely make out Sam’s outline through the torrent of water that flowed down the windshield. Before he could stop him, Sam piled into the car next to Dean, all 200 pounds of soaked-to-the-bone baby brother slumping back into the Impala’s passenger seat. Dean sighed loudly but didn’t try to stop it. There wasn’t another blanket anyway. He grumbled something about naugahyde not being cheap under his breath, flipped on the wipers, and revved the engine.

They decided to hit up a liquor store before returning to the motel to dry off, order a pizza, and watch bad TV for the rest of the night. It had been a long and abnormally stressful day and there wasn’t much more investigating that could be done from the laptop. Dean hoped the storm would clear off by morning so they could start the hunt again.  
Dean was still soaked and shivering cold at the liquor store which prompted him to buy a bottle of Jack in addition to their standard case of beers. He had been avoiding the stuff since Sam came back but the temptation was too great. He had no intention of tying one on but he knew the JD would help warm him from the inside out and hopefully numb some of his irrational pain.

Once back at the Countryside Motel, Dean deposited his purchases on the desk, letting a smile spread across his lips as he ripped open the black plastic protecting the lid on the bottle of Jack using his teeth.

“You’re not even going to dry off first, are you?” Sam snarked as he peeled off his wet garments, leaving a soggy trail of abandoned clothes on the way to the bathroom to search for a towel.

“Hey, I’ll get to it. I have a process.” Dean tore the plastic off one of the disposable plastic cups on the desk and filled it with several inches of whiskey. He knocked it back quickly, filling his cup again but leaving it behind for a moment to untie his sodden boots and wiggle out of his jeans.

Sam was still in the bathroom by the time Dean was done changing into sweats and a t-shirt, his skin still cold, clammy, and damp. He didn’t feel like running into a partially nude and dripping wet Sam in the bathroom so he let his fresh, dry clothes sop up the last of the moisture from his skin as he took a seat on the Pepto-pink upholstered desk chair. The cushion felt like burlap stuffed full of straw but he stayed put as Sam emerged from the bathroom room with a towel around his waist and another in his hand.

“I don’t know how you let them talk you into this room, Dean. A few weeks ago we drove another 50 miles just to find a place that wasn’t sold out of doubles.” Sam frowned at the queen-sized bed quilted in garish pink and turquoise paisley as he toweled off his hair.

“So it’s my fault? I recall you being the one that didn’t want to stay in one of those cute little bed and breakfasts with the lacy curtains and four-poster beds.” Dean knocked back his second shot, hoping to get toasty enough to warm him through and pass out next to his brother without any issues.

Dean wasn’t feeling hungry yet, his stomach was warm and prickling with Jack, so he didn’t bother to mention the pizza that had been proposed on the drive over. He kept his eyes closed as Sam got dressed, resting his head back against the uncomfortable swell of the desk chair.

Sam opened and down his first beer before even bothering to flip on the TV. After settling on some nature documentary, he opened another. Dean kept his eyes shut the entire time, letting the alcohol flow through his veins and bring some of the feeling back into his extremities.

“Come over here man, that can’t be comfortable.” Sam patted his large, tan hand against the scratchy comforter. Dean looked at him with caution as Sam made space for Dean to join him on the too-small-for-guys-their-size bed. He was reluctant to join Sam but he could feel sleep tugging at the corners of his eyes and the hard surface of the chair made the muscles in his back ache. He wasn’t drunk yet but he was definitely feeling soft and loose around the edges, potentially dangerous territory if it weren’t for the sheer exhaustion. It had been at least 24 hours since his last decent sleep.  
Like a good brother should, Dean offered Sam the bottle of Jack as he sat down on the bed next to him. Sam was already two and a half beers in and, without hesitation, unscrewed the lid and took a long pull off the bottle.

“Good call on that.” Sam’s voice was raw from the whiskey. He wiped his mouth off on the back of his hand. “You want a beer?”

Dean nodded, trying to keep his eyes off of Sam’s bright pink mouth as he retrieved one of the frosty bottles from the box beside the bed. They sat nursing their beers and taking sips of Jack straight from the bottle while they watched a documentary about narwhals without commentary. It had been a long, physically exhausting day and the bed beneath Dean’s back was feeling softer by the minute.

He kept his heavy-lidded eyes on the TV as Sam shifted next to him, coming to rest with his shoulder and hip pressed snug against Dean’s body. Sam sighed and Dean could hear a slight slur on the back end.

“I really missed you, Dean.” The slur wasn’t Dean’s imagination. Sam wasn’t trashed but he was definitely tipsy. Sam’s head thunked down a little too heavily on Dean’s shoulder. Dean fought off the urge to rest his own head against Sam’s, swallowing thickly.

“I missed you too, Sammy.” The words were almost a whisper.

“Tell me more about Cassie. You guys looked so good together. What happened?” Sam’s words trailed off, strained in his throat like he was trying to keep the words free of emotion.  
“It’s complicated.” Dean really didn’t want to have this conversation. He could feel Sam staring up at him from beneath his shaggy bangs and thought about the way Sam had looked at him after he kissed Cassie goodbye. Dean wanted so badly to tilt his head down and let his lips graze Sam’s but he wouldn’t. He was stronger than that. After a beat, Sam broke the silence.

“It doesn’t seem right that neither of us gets to be happy.” Sam’s voice quivered and Dean could feel the sentiment behind it. He felt the same way but he knew that with his warped heart, he would never be content. Happiness was Sam’s job. Dean just had to get him there.

“I had to be honest with myself, Sam. With her. We couldn’t make each other happy. Not really…” Dean chugged the rest of his beer quickly and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He had to put some distance between himself and Sam before he lost control of the situation. He wasn’t drunk but with the amount of emotion on the table he didn’t trust himself not to slip.

“Dean, wait.” Sam was behind him, so close. He could feel Sam’s breath, his warmth. It was almost like he willed Sam into touching him. Sam’s large hand skated up and over Dean’s shoulder, squeezing gently, as his other arm snaked around Dean’s waist pulling him back against Sam’s chest. Sam might as well have punched him. The shock of such intimate physical contact hit Dean square in the solar plexus, almost driving the air out of his lungs. Dean’s slumped back into the embrace resting the back of his head against Sam’s shoulder as he gulped for air.

“Sam, don’t…” Dean’s voice didn’t sound like his own in his ears. It shuddered with passion, choked out as if he were near tears. For God’s sake, he was. His mind, heart, and body were at war with one another. Dean’s fight or flight response kicked in and he groped desperately at Sam’s forearm, attempting to pry Sam off, but his kid brother was strong and Dean’s heart was winning the fight.

“I could never be honest with Jess, Dean. You’re the only one that understands…” Sam’s breath was warm and wet against Dean’s neck. He could imagine being deep inside Sam, where he was hot and wet too. Dean pulled back from the descent but blood was already rushing south. He was dizzy with lust. This wasn’t about Cassie or Jess anymore. It was about Dean’s promise to himself and his promise to Sam. He had to go.

“I can’t do this, Sam.” Dean got his footing and shoved Sam’s hands away. He looked back at his brother sprawled out on the bed. Sam’s eyes were red and wet, full of longing. Dean swallowed the lump in his throat before turning away. It took every shred of willpower he had but Dean forced himself to keep his eyes down as he moved.

Dean grabbed the keys off the desk and shoved his bare feet into his still soaked boots. John’s hand-me-down leather was dripping into the carpet from where it hung over the back of the doorknob so he grabbed a flannel out of his duffel instead, bursting out of the room before his will faltered. Dean wasn’t even sure he shut the door behind him. He just had to put distance between Sam and the feelings inside him that seemed to be growing in intensity. It was obvious Sam craved the closeness they once shared and Dean’s body was all too willing to comply. Ultimately Dean didn’t trust himself to know how far was too far. Leaving felt like the only choice he had.

Once in the driver’s seat, Dean shoved his hand into his groin, crushing his still semi-erect cock down painfully against his thigh. He grunted in pain, covering the desperate sound by revving the engine. Dean found himself back on the highway, not even sure what direction he was going at first. The storm had backed off a little but the sky was still angry. Lightning flashes illuminated purple and green tinted storm clouds that boiled and churned against the inky, starless sky. Dean turned on the stereo and cranked the Jethro Tull album they had been listening to on the way into town that morning. Dean forced his mind to clear. Don’t think. Just drive.

_____________

Sam was left raw and confused, more intoxicated than he realized, in the awkward void left by his brother. He paced the room for a while after shutting off the TV, trying to sort through the muddy feelings that were swirling in too much whiskey. He knew something had changed between him and Dean but he didn’t fully understand why it was happening. He still felt hollow at times, as if the hellfire that stole Jessica from him had burnt out his insides too, like he was nothing but a vessel for blind rage and misplaced frustration. Usually the anger was focused on the creatures they hunted but at times like these that anger shifted inward and Sam hated himself, his circumstances.

Dean, as frustrating as he could be, had become Sam’s anchor, even if it was hard to admit. He craved that deep, iron-forged bond that still existed between them. Sam had done a lot to block out the disaster that was his childhood but if there was one constant, shining light it was Dean. Dean’s smile. His full-body laugh. His strength. His almostother-worldly beauty. Under the practical jokes and petty arguing, Dean was all Sam had, and at the end of the day Dean was all he wanted. Sam felt queasy as he started sinking down into the tumultuous darkness of his own thoughts and feelings. He decided he couldn’t do this alone, not now.

He called his brother’s cell a few times before realizing Dean had left it behind on the nightstand, set to vibrate. The sweatpants Dean had pulled on after getting out of his wet clothes didn’t have pockets and his leather coat was sitting soaked in a loose pile on the floor near the partially open door. Great, Sam was stuck waiting until Dean decided to come back.

Sam drank another beer and before long the room’s nauseating color scheme and cardboard-thin walls felt as if they were closing in on him. He found himself putting on a clean pair of jeans, fresh socks, and the pair of backup sneakers that sat dry and warm at the bottom of his duffle bag.

Sam remembered seeing several restaurants and bars along route 9 as they came back from speaking with Travis. There wasn’t much out this far but if he was willing to walk a bit he was bound to find food and maybe some company, even if it was that of complete strangers. The rain had let up for the most part and the cool night air immediately helped the fuzzy, drunk, over emotional mindset he was in to dissipate. Sam pointed himself toward Cold Spring, shoved his hands in the pockets of his heather grey hoodie, and started walking.

After around twenty minutes walking alone on the empty road, Sam found a gas station that had already closed for the evening and a poorly lit, hand painted sign that said “DEWEY’S BAR AND GRILLE.” The faded red arrow painted underneath the blue and white block letters pointed to a non-descript beige, tin-sided building with a faintly flashing Pabst Blue Ribbon sign in one of the small, greasy windows. It would have to do. Sam hoped they’d have some halfway decent food to sop up the alcohol sloshing around in his otherwise empty stomach.

Sam stumbled into the blue collar joint, having to push on the door with considerable force to get it to open past the rain-swelled door jam. The interior was smoky and grey, not unlike the skies outside before the storm had hit. The dark wood paneling and mirror-backed bar showed signs of what was probably once a nautical theme back when the place originally opened. There was dusty, tattered fish netting draped across the bar’s fascia and the light fixtures were made out of recycled ship’s wheels.

As far as Sam could tell, the faces that turned to look at him from the bar were all locals. Fisherman, sailors, and dock workers all weathered and craggy with eyes dark and deep like the river they made their living on. These men were making a stop at the local watering hole before heading further inland where their meager salaries could afford them some comfort. There were no places like this on the manicured, tourist-focused main street of Cold Spring.

Sam flashed a meek but friendly smile at the bar jockeys before casting his eyes down. He’d hustled enough pool with Dean in bars far seedier than this one to know better than to get too friendly with the locals. He stood out in Dewey’s like a sore thumb so it was best to keep a low profile. Sam could hear the rain starting up again as he let the door swing closed behind him. He chose a corner booth facing the entrance, smirking as he realized the choice was ingrained, nearly hearing Dean’s voice telling him to “never sit with your back to the door.”

There was a simple menu of sandwiches and appetizers at the table but Sam didn’t see anyone waiting the tables. The silver-haired barkeep had his back to Sam at the moment but he appeared to be the only employee around. Sam checked his phone and it was already a quarter to midnight. He’d be lucky to score some bar peanuts at this point. He must have looked confused enough for the bartender to take mercy on him because shortly after checking the time, the elderly man came out from around the back of the bar and approached Sam’s table.

“Evenin’ son. What can I get for ya?” The man sounded like he was from further upstate, Syracuse maybe.

“Uh, is it too late to get something to eat?” Sam looked up at the man hopefully.

“Sorry, bud. Kitchen’s closed. We don’t get many tourists this time ‘a night. The cook’s gone home.” Sam sighed, sliding the menu back across the table.

“It’s okay, I understand. Just a house whiskey then, neat. Actually, make it a double. Oh and a beer. Whatever’s on tap is fine.” Sam knew he should eat but his buzz was wearing off and he could feel the throb of a headache starting. If he wasn’t going to score some dinner he was resigned to at least having another drink since he’d hiked all the way here. After a couple of rounds he’d call a cab and pass out sprawled over the bed before Dean even made it back.

One and a half whiskeys deep and working on his second beer Sam heard the door burst open with the same loud pop that occurred when he entered earlier. Like the rest of the bar patrons, Sam looked up at the commotion to see a young woman, soaking wet in an oversized wool pea coat. She looked like a drowned rat standing in the entryway. Her long blonde hair fell in wet rivulets dripping around either side of her soft, oval face and her eyes were bright blue, almost luminescent against the grey-brown grime of Dewey’s decor. She wore tall, black rubber rain boots and the dripping wet hem of a moss green dress peeked out from under her coat and clung to her wet, pale thighs.

The bartender and other patrons scowled at being disturbed by yet another stranger and turned away soon enough. Sam knew a woman in distress when he saw one and got up almost automatically, realizing how drunk he was as his knees wobbled beneath him. Her eyes were on him as he approached. She looked so open, so innocent, that he was drawn in immediately. Her features and hair reminded him vaguely of Jess even as he tried to push the thought aside.

“Are you okay? You’re drenched.” Sam shucked off his hoodie and held it out to her. “Here, get out of that thing and take my sweatshirt.”

“Thank you so much.” Her teeth chattered, making her accent hard to place. She let her drenched coat drop to the floor revealing the pale goosebumped flesh of her shoulders and arms. Sam saw her dress was really more of a nightgown and tried to avert his eyes respectfully after letting his gaze linger just a touch too long on her small, firm breasts. She didn’t seem to notice as she wrapped the hoodie around her.

“My car broke down.” She was breathing hard and her trembling jaw gave her a child-like quality. Sam had to fight the impulse to pull her close so he could warm her up with his body heat. Instead, he ushered her over to his booth and waved to get the bartender’s attention again. She offered a few more details about her situation and eventually the man came over, looking less than thrilled.

“I know you said the kitchen’s closed but don’t you guys have coffee or soup or something?”

He looked at Sam with a furrowed brow.

“Look, she’s obviously had a rough night. I’ll pay you double. Come on, man.”

“Let me see what I can do. Just a minute.” The man wiped his hands off on the bar towel he was holding before shambling back around the bar and through a door to what Sam assumed was the kitchen.

Sam introduced himself as Sam Hooper, the alias from his fake FBI badge. The woman said her name was Laney. She was on her way to Manhattan from Poughkeepsie to visit her brother and his wife. She had a soft, gentle voice and a natural ease about her that Sam found instantly charming. Sam kept his words to a minimum, wanting to avoid the drunken rambling he was prone to.

The barkeep eventually emerged with two steaming bowls of clam chowder in his hands and a basket of oyster crackers in plastic packets wedged under his arm.

“Figured you could use a bite too,” he said, sliding one of the bowls in front of Sam, “I started a pot of coffee. It’ll be done in a bit. I expect a good tip.” The man grunted gruffly but Sam smiled at him and dug the last two twenties out of his wallet, sliding them under the salt and pepper shakers. Sam dug into his food without pretense. He hadn’t eaten since the crappy Danishes and coffee Dean had picked up at the gas station that morning.

Laney chatted about how much she loved the river this time of year and how she didn’t really mind the rain. She stirred her chowder, sipping a spoonful or two, and picked at the crackers as she watched Sam eat.

When the bartender brought over their coffees, Sam inquired about a mechanic to help Laney with her car. There wasn’t exactly local AAA service so it looked like she would have to find a place to stay until morning when the gas station next door opened and their resident mechanic could take a look at her car. The bartender laughed heartily when Sam asked about calling a cab. This was a small town, no such luck at this time of night unless he wanted to pay a fortune on getting one to come down from Poughkeepsie.

The regulars had already started filtering out one by one so it looked like the owner had every intention of closing up soon. It was a weeknight, after all. Thankfully it looked like the rain had stopped again and Sam wouldn’t mind the walk as much with someone to keep him company.

“Look, I’m staying in a motel about 20 minutes walk up the highway. I can walk you there so you could get a room for the night, if you want. In the morning I can get you a ride over to the mechanic’s too. I don’t mind.”  
“That’s really sweet of you, Sam.” Laney smiled big and nodded gratefully at the offer. The rain had indeed stopped and Sam felt much better now that he had some food in his stomach and caffeine in his bloodstream to counteract the alcohol.

Sam was shivering without his hoodie to shield him from the damp spring air but the walk back didn’t take as long as he remembered, probably because of Laney’s gentle company. As the lights of the motel came into sight, the rain began to fall again quite heavily. Sam grabbed Laney’s hand to make sure she kept up as he began jogging the final stretch along the highway’s gravel shoulder to the motel’s covered porch.

The vacancy sign still flickered red in the office window but the light inside was dim and the door was locked. Sam knocked half-heartedly but it was late and the manager wasn’t anywhere to be seen. It was hardly tourist season. Frustrated, Sam turned back toward the parking lot and noticed the impala was still gone. Surely, there was no harm in letting Laney come back to the room. Sam wasn’t even sure if he Dean would be back that night. It wouldn’t be the first time his brother stormed out on him and rolled back in after first light with a hangover, smelling like bar smoke and cheap perfume.

“Well, shit. It doesn’t look like the manager is still up. We could go to my room to get warm and dry off and check back in a little while…?”

Before he even had all the words out, Lainey’s small frame pressed up against the front of his body and her arms circled his waist. Sam was still not completely sober and Laney’s sudden aggressiveness startled him. He backed into the office’s glass and metal door, shrinking back from her embrace with his arms lifted, looking down at her momentarily surprised and confused.

“I don’t want to be alone tonight, Sam…” Her eyes had darkened considerably and her lips were curled in a dangerous smile making her face look almost completely different than when Sam had first seen her, all dripping wet and helpless back at Dewey’s. Despite his shock, Sam’s body was certainly showing an interest in her sudden forwardness. Before he could properly process the situation Sam was half-hard under the friction of her lithe little body.

“It doesn’t seem like you do either...” She clearly felt his arousal and eyes dipping down at the swell in his jeans, pulling back slightly to put eyes on her prize.

“Laney, wait…” Sam rested his hand on her shoulder and gently pushed her back a bit. It just didn’t feel right. He stroked her cheek with the back of his right hand hoping to slow things down and bring some tenderness to the moment that felt rushed and out of character for his new friend.

As soon as his fingers made contact with the gentle curve of her cheekbone Sam knew he had made a terrible mistake. Her skin was freezing cold, wet, and slick under his fingers, nothing like it appeared. As her eyes tilted up again to meet his, Sam’s stomach twisted with grim realization. Her pupils had gone pale and milky white and her lips peeled back to reveal a glistening row of jagged, piranha like teeth. He was staring into the shifting face of the kelpie.

Sam reflexively tried to yank his hand away but he was stuck fast. The skin on his fingers burned like some ethereal superglue had bonded him to the woman that was transforming before his eyes. He shoved at the center of her chest with his free hand, thankful her bare skin was covered up by his grey Stanford hoodie. Sam was strong and tall enough that the shove caused Laney to lose her balance. Her grip faltered for a moment as she flailed backward, trying to grasp at the exposed skin of Sam’s arms.

Sam had the upper hand for a moment, but her head tilted back and she cackled as she continued to change, white eyes and teeth glinting in the flickering fluorescent lights. The storm raged even stronger around them as they tumbled, tangled together, into the muddy parking lot. Sam was simultaneously shoving her away from him and yanking his arm back futilely. It was a losing proposition and he felt her icy fingers wrap around his exposed wrist as he lost his footing in the rain. Sam was screaming out as her fingers burnt into his skin. He threw her to the ground, stomping his sneakered foot into her chest.

She grinned grotesquely as her body expanded and changed under his weight. Her long hair snaked out around her body, kelp-like tendrils winding down her shoulders and fanning out around her head in a terrifying halo as it turned emerald green. Her skin changed too, fading into grey against the muddy water around her, pale and washed out like a drowned corpse. Sam’s free hand reached for the gun on his hip that, sadly, wasn’t there. He pictured it on the counter in the hotel room, stupidly forgotten after the fight with Dean. Dean!

Suddenly light flooded the parking lot, blinding Sam and the creature at his feet. Sam shielded his eyes from the glare as he heard the unmistakable rumble of the impala’s engine through the booming thunder and torrents of rain.

  
_____________

 

Dean had been driving aimlessly for several hours. He didn’t want to drink any more than he already had and hated the idea of sleeping in the car in the cold. He made it all the way to Poughkeepsie before his stomach started speaking louder than the stereo. He stopped for a burger off the highway and ate it in the Impala, beating himself up mentally the entire time. When he finally decided to suck it up and drive back to Cold Spring he had a plan. He was going to talk to Sam, be honest as best he could without throwing up, and try to draw a line they couldn’t cross anymore. It was his only hope of keeping his shit together while they finished this case and their only hope for continuing to work together in such close proximity. He had to air out at least some of his true feelings with Sam or else he was going to go insane.

The conditions had been bad for the last ten minutes of his drive into Cold Spring and he was struggling to see through the fog and rain. A commotion outside the motel caught his eye and he slowed down. As he rounded the corner into the parking lot, Dean realized that it was Sam. He was struggling, panicked, and fighting with something terrible writhing underneath him in the pouring rain. Dean slammed on the breaks and simultaneously reached into the seat for his gun. Baby’s long body fishtailed in the mud and the car lurched sideways before sliding to a halt in the gravel only a few feet away from the glowing green and gold motel sign. Dean launched out of the car, focused and determined, gun in one hand, machete retrieved from the back seat in the other.

 

_____________

 

Sam felt the kelpie’s body shift as his eyes followed the Impala in its slide through the rain. Suddenly the kelpie became far heavier than it was a moment before. Sam’s arms were dragged down and he stumbled forward, looking on in horror as the lower part of her transforming body expanded and changed. Her flesh was a tumult, streaked with mud, shifting from pale to clear to almost black. Sam swore he could make out the shape of a horse’s flank swelling beneath the sopping wet fabric of his hoodie.

Dean lunged forward, shooting blindly into the creature’s face. Sam pulled back, letting Dean’s arm between them, watching the dark curve of the machete slicing first through the rain and then through the sopping flesh of the beast’s wrist. Dean cleaved her hand away from her arm in one slick movement. As the hand separated, the limb went wobbly like a tentacle, waving and spurting murky blue-black blood across the monster’s pale face and Sam’s bare arm.

 

_____________

 

Dean yanked Sam back with his full weight and buried his big black boot into the distended belly of the creature. It had come to resemble a centaur more than a human woman. Sam screamed as the tender skin of his hand other was ripped away from the creature’s face and he and Dean fell backwards into the mud. The kelpie’s face, elongated and horrible, was twisted in a terrifying scream as it dragged it’s hulking, shifting mass back toward the road in an attempt to retreat. Dean’s attention turned to Sam who was cradling his damaged arm, shivering and gasping in the muddy rainwater.

“Dean! Don’t let it get away!” Sam screamed as the thunder clapped. Dean’s eyes burned with muddy water and what must have been the monster’s blood. He saw the shambling lump pause, almost complete in its transformation into the form of a horse, and he began unloading the rest of his clip into the kelpie’s back. It reared up, unleashing more of a scream than a neigh, wet skin shining. Instead of charging Dean as it appeared ready to do, it galloped away, across the highway and toward the river. Dean scowled as he noticed it wasn’t even limping from where it was maimed. His bullets seemed to have no effect other than scaring the creature away.

Dean returned to Sam and helped him up, pulling him over to the motel porch. Sam was in shock, looking down startled at his wounds which were bleeding badly into his wet clothing. The kelpie’s limp, twitching hand was still clinging to Sam’s wrist. They watched in horrified fascination as it became translucent and gelatinous before falling to the concrete.

“Stay here for a minute Sammy, I’m gonna move Baby and we’ll go inside so I can patch you up.” Dean ran back into the rain and slipped behind the wheel quickly, keeping his eyes on Sam’s slumped form the entire time.

If Dean hadn’t been so quick to run away from his problems this wouldn’t have happened. If he wasn’t so perverted and sick… Dean pushed the darkness back as it started to bleed in from the corners of his mind. There was no time for this now, Sam was hurt and Dean had to take care of him.

Sam hadn’t moved from his spot on the cold, wet concrete. His eyes were distant but his gaze rested on the gelatinous lump that used to be the kelpie’s hand where it had fallen between his knees. Dean could see the bright red abrasion circling Sam’s wrist from where it was adhered. It wasn’t bleeding quite as badly the wound across the back of his fingers was. Instead it looked like a chemical burn ringed by tiny puncture wounds, like something the sucker from a squid or octopus’ tentacle would leave.

Sam’s hand was in far worse shape. The skin had been literally ripped away. The space between the knuckle and first finger joint on his index and middle fingers was missing skin and Sam’s blood streaked his entire upper arm. As Dean helped his brother up off the ground and into their room, he noticed that same chemical burn from Sam’s other wrist also marred the entire back of his hand and tops of his other fingers.

Dean winced as he spied the half empty bottle of Jack sitting abandoned on the desk. There were empty beer bottles piled up in the small trash can and the room’s lone bed was still rumpled from where they laid earlier that evening. Dean forced himself to purge all the emotion and focus everything on Sam’s injuries.

He guided Sam to the bathroom and seated him on the toilet so he could help strip off his wet, muddy clothes. Blood still flowed from Sam’s hand wounds so they would be relatively easy to clean. There wasn’t much worse than trying to clean mud and God-knows-what-else out of a wound that had already started to scab over. Dean’s face twisted with concern. Sam had lost quite a bit of skin and he was worried bandages and stitches wouldn’t be enough. Sam couldn’t afford to completely lose use of his hand while they were still hunting the kelpie.  
Dean coaxed Sam into the shower to rinse off and get heated through. Sam let Dean guide him, being a good patient like John had always taught them to be in this type of situation. Once Sam emerged from the shower, Dean helped him slip on some clean boxers before wrapping his brother’s wounded hands in the hotel’s hand towels. He put a fresh set of Sam’s clothes on the toilet seat and went back in the room to pick through the first aid kit.

“Dean...” Sam’s voice was hoarse and weak, calling out to him from the bathroom.

“Yeah, Sammy?” Dean popped his head back into the bathroom. Sam had managed to pull on the sweat pants he left him but his hands were still wrapped in towels, folded like damaged wings against Sam’s chest where he looked down at them, tears streaking his cheeks.

“I, uh, I don’t think we can patch this up here. I think I might need to go to the hospital. It won’t stop bleeding and, fuck, it just really fucking hurts.” Sam’s face was twisted in pain in a way Dean hadn’t seen in a long time. The towel around the hand missing skin was already starting to show signs of bleeding through.

“Ok, sure, yeah. Whatever you want. Let’s go.”

Dean wrapped a flannel around Sam’s shoulders after helping him put on a t-shirt, dry socks, and his still drying boots. Dean didn’t worry about his own clothes; he could dry off in the car.  
Dean didn’t remember seeing a hospital in Cold Spring so once they piled back into the Impala he hit the highway and pointed the car north, toward Poughkeepsie. The rain has stopped and the road dried once they got around a mile away from Cold Spring.

Dean looked over at Sam huddled in the passenger seat. He was slumping back against the head rest instead of the window like he normally preferred. His arms lay limp across his lap and his face was still drawn up in pain. Dean focused on the road and tried not to worry about him. Sam was a tough son of a bitch and had been through worse than this. Still, Dean angled the rearview mirror so he could keep an eye on him without making it too obvious.

The drive dragged by slowly. He had to avoid going too fast on the windy, dark blacktop. Every time a car passed Dean used the residual light to check on Sam. After about fifteen minutes, Sam’s features had softened. He looked so young. It transported Dean back to when he rode shotgun with Dad and would glance back at his brother in the back seat while he was sleeping.

Dean fought the urge to reach out and stroke Sam’s cheek, just to make sure he was really there and not just some figment of his imagination. He pulled back, putting his hand back on the stick shift instead. If he had touched Sam that feeling of closeness and comfort would suck him down into the blackness of his own tangled emotions and he wouldn’t be able to stop – or explain himself if Sam woke up.

 _____________

The doctors said Sam had to stay in Saint Francis Hospital for at least five days. Their stolen insurance went through, no questions asked, and they gave him a good prognosis. They planned skin grafts for his fingers and wrist on the second day, once they could be sure his wounds weren’t infected. The doctors warned that the pain from taking strips of donor skin from the top of Sam’s thighs would likely going to hurt worse than the wounds themselves.

Dean didn’t talk much those first few days. He stayed out of the hospital staff’s way and let Sam get as much rest as possible. He headed back to Cold Spring to talk to a few more locals about the case but, aside from the strange weather, no one seemed to have any information about what was causing the disappearances.

The skin grafts went well and they kept Sam doped up pretty well for the next few days. Everything seemed to be healing well though and the doctors eased back on the drugs.

On the morning of Sam’s discharge, Dean brought him an extra large vanilla ‘frapalattechino’ or whatever crap he got used to drinking back at Stanford and an egg white omelet with lots of veggies and cheese. He didn’t mean it to be a peace offering or a bribe but as he watched Sam eat, Dean couldn’t help but start digging for more information about the kelpie attack.

“So are you gonna tell me what happened the other night or…? I mean, it might help us get a lead on this thing, man. I don’t know about you but I’m ready to kill this freak. The locals around here are about as clueless as they come. I’m all out of leads to chase.”

Sam slowly told Dean about Laney between bites of food and sips of Starbucks. The way he described it, the girl walked in and Sam could instantly think of nothing else. Dean couldn’t help but wonder if that was part of the kelpie’s magic at work. Sam painted her as being so soft and vulnerable, so much like Jess. Dean’s heart hurt for Sam but as the story unfolded his anger swelled. It was his frustration at his own selfish stupidity, his own sickness, at having caused this. That was what made Dean abandon his brother and his absence made Sam leave their room to find company elsewhere. This time, instead of turning that anger inward, it flared out at Sam.

“What the hell were you thinking, Sammy? Leaving the hotel unarmed!? Jesus Christ you were about to bring her – that thing – back to our room? When did you get so fucking gullible, man? Dad raised you better than that! Hell, I raised you better than that!” Dean was up and pacing the room. He could feel Sam’s eyes on him, probably all wide and puppy-like. He couldn’t stand to look at him and the words just kept coming.

“Did living all safe and happy in your college town really make you this soft? You’re lucky your hand was all it got! What if she let you get to second base, man? You might not be sitting here at all!” Dean’s voice cracked in his throat and he realized that his skin was flushed in anger. His heart was stinging with jealousy. The gaping, dark hole inside Dean, the part of him that knew he could never really love anyone other than Sam, was throbbing like a cancer.

The ghost of Jess would never stop haunting Sam. Dean knew he had really loved her. It scared him to see Sam going down the same path their father had, with a single minded focus on revenge, and all for some woman who could never have loved Sam as much as Dean did. The thought pierced his heart like an iron nail and Dean froze near the door. He held back the tears that stung behind his eyes and choked back the swollen, messy lump in his throat. These poisonous thoughts and feelings were about to damage his relationship with Sam. He had to stop.

“I’m sorry Sam. I didn’t mean to yell, I just…” He turned to face his brother and saw Sam’s eyes were red and wet with tears too. “I just can’t lose you. Not like this. Not to this fucking thing. I’m sorry about last night I just get so lost in my own head sometimes. You were gone for so long, Sammy. Four years is a long time and I’m just… I’m learning how to be what you need… How to be your brother again.” Dean felt the hot splash of tears down his face before recognizing he’d lost control. It was too late, he’d already let the mask slip and his raw emotion spilled over.

“I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.” Dean wiped his face and kept his eyes trained on the ground. “Look, just give me a call when they discharge you later today and I’ll come pick you up. I’m going to go get a few supplies that we’re going to need to kill this son of a bitch.” Dean left the room before giving Sam a chance to respond. His mind was fixed on action and he didn’t want to dwell too long on the mess of passion this case had evoked in him.

 

_____________

 

Dean buried his emotions by preparing their arsenal. He knew they needed iron and, while at least two of their machetes were made of the stuff, he was worried it wouldn’t be enough for them to kill the kelpie. Iron bullets don’t work in modern guns and there weren’t exactly any muskets in the Impala’s trunk. Dean knew iron-cored, armor piercing rounds were possible but they were also illegal as hell so, in a pinch, he decided to doctor some regular shotgun rounds. The yellow pages yielded several stores carrying antique hardware in the Poughkeepsie area where Dean would be able to pick up a few boxes of the small, square-ended iron nails he needed to fill the rounds they usually packed with rock salt.

Nails and empty shells to fill in hand, Dean recalled the story Sam told him about the blacksmith. Dean had no idea where to find ‘large iron hooks’ so he settled on looking for some iron rebar. There were several billboards for ‘NEW HOMES’ along the highway between Cold Spring and Poughkeepsie so Dean followed one of the signs to a construction site.

Suburban sprawl made the job easy and he quickly found a house in progress at the end of a street lined with model homes. He skipped over the thinner, steel rebar they were using at the front of the lot to find several stacks of inch-thick cast iron rebar where they were about to pour a basement. He bundled up 5 or 6 of the heavy bars and tucked them into the floorboard of the back seat.

He checked his phone for missed calls before leaving the construction site. Still no word from Sam. It was past noon already and his stomach was growling but this was as good a place as any to start his prep. He was more than ready to track down the shape-shifting bastard that almost killed Sam and put an iron spike through its head. No time to waste.  
Dean spread out what he needed to assemble the iron nail filled rounds on the back seat of the Impala and powered through both boxes of nails and all the empty casings they had. He didn’t think it would take that many shells to finish off their target but he filled them all anyway. He put the shells in one of the ammo boxes and stowed them along with his sawed-off and both of their iron machetes on the floor next to the rebar. He covered it all with the blanket he’d used to protect Baby’s seat from the rain just in case he got pulled over. Once the iron arsenal was stowed, Dean headed back out to the freeway to get gas and grab lunch.

Chores done, Dean puttered around Poughkeepise. He headed over to the river to look for a lead even though he knew none of the cases Sam found took place this far north. He wanted to keep his mind on the investigation until he could go back to pick up his brother. The visitor’s center was even more generic than the one they visited back in Cold Spring and, after talking to a State Park Ranger and several other locals, Dean was no closer to an answer.

It was near four o’clock by the time Dean got back to the Impala in the parking lot of the visitor’s center. He was tired, energy waning from the stress and a day filled with mindless busy work. He had stayed up in the area of the hospital because he thought for sure Sam would have been released by now but at this point he regretted not going back to Cold Spring in the first place. At least then he could have dozed off in the relative comfort of their hotel room instead of the car. He considered going back to the hospital to bug the doctors until they let Sam go but sleep sagged heavy in the corners of his eyes and he let them slide shut with the golden light of the setting sun warming his face.

Dean dreamt dark fluid dreams like the river was speaking to his subconscious. He woke up with a clammy sweat clinging to his skin and the windows fogged up in the corners. Yawning and shaking off the residue of sleep, Dean reached into his jeans pocket for his phone. The screen was dark and he unsuccessfully tried to turn it on several times before conceding that the battery was dead. The car charger for that model bit the dust a while ago. Dean sighed in frustration as he remembered his current backup phone was at the bottom of his duffle, back in Cold Spring, instead of in the glove box. Fucking fantastic.

Dean’s watch told him it was half past seven. Visitor’s hours ended at Saint Francis at six and with no way to check to see if Sam had called, Dean conceded his defeat and decided to go back to the motel. It wasn’t that far away and with his other phone he could call Sam or the hospital to figure out why they hadn’t discharged him much earlier in the day. It was entirely possible that an infection had set in to one of Sam’s wounds or that something else was wrong. Maybe Sam just wasn’t interested in talking to Dean after the way he had blown up at him earlier. Dean was still feeling too raw and guilty about the entire situation with Sam anyway. Another night of sleep apart might do them both some good.

Dean was never particularly hungry this soon after waking up and the gas tank was full so he made his way back to Route Nine. He was pissed at himself and worried Sam was even angrier at him now that he had abandoned him at Saint Francis. The prospect of a hot shower and a clean bed were good enough to keep his mind off the angst and focused on the road for a while.

The drive flew by, quiet and uneventful. Dean noticed before he even got out of the Impala that a light was on inside the hotel room. Unless the maid had left it on by accident it could only mean one thing, Sam had been discharged after all. As a precaution Dean peered through the crack in the curtains. Nothing seemed out of place. The desk lamp was on, the bathroom door was closed, and Dean could see light spilling out from underneath it. Shit. Dean felt terrible for falling asleep and missing Sam’s calls. He must have taken a cab from Poughkeepsie. Thank God for stolen credit cards. The trip must have cost a fortune.

Dean couldn’t carry all the iron weapons from the back seat into the room without looking extremely conspicuous so he settled on stuffing the sawed-off, one of the machetes, and the container of iron rounds into the spare duffle bag before fishing his room key out of his pocket. Sam had learned the hard way that you couldn’t be too careful and Dean wanted to make sure they had iron accessible at all times in case the kelpie came back.

“Hey, Sammy? That you?” Dean called out to his brother as he opened the door. The air inside the room was hot and damp and he could hear the shower running. Dean deposited his weapons cache on the floor near the door, leaving the contents half spilled out, and went over to find his back up cell and charger. He plugged in his phone and turned on the backup, angry at himself for making such a rookie mistake. Dad would kick his ass for this if he ever found out.

The shower shut off just as Dean sat down in the desk chair to take off his boots. He could hear the rustle of the shower curtain and Sam’s wet feet slapping against the tile as he dried off. Dean launched into his apology as soon as the bathroom door creaked opened, too guilty to bother with preamble.

“I’m so sorry, man. I waited, I really did, but once I got the stuff we needed I dozed off in the car. My phone died and the damn car charger’s still busted. I left my backup here in the room like a moron. I didn’t mean to be such a dick back at the hospital I just don’t –” Dean’s train of thought was stopped short as he tilted his head up, finally looking at Sam.

Sam had crossed the room quietly and was standing a few feet in front of Dean. He held one of the motel’s thin towels draped loose and low around his waist. The light from the bathroom lit him from behind, keeping his face shaded. His wet skin glistened in the low light and beads of water clung to the smattering of hair on his chest and abdomen. The sheen from the water highlighted the firm lines of his chest and his pale brown nipples stood erect in the damp, cooling air.

Dean caught himself gawking and turned his head, coughing to clear his throat. He was eager to focus on something besides his beautiful, towering brother and gestured toward the arsenal he’d amassed.

“I, uh, got the stuff we need, I think. There’s more in the car… I found some iron rebar too, thought it might be useful if you wanted to try that iron hook idea you read about. Not sure where we’re going to find a sheep though…” Sam took a step closer to Dean and reached toward him, resting his hand on Dean’s shoulder. His fingers curled over it and he squeezed as he looked down at Dean, his thumb tracing the edge of his collar bone through the layers of his jacket and shirt. Dean looked up at Sam, trying to read his face.

“It’s okay, Dean.” Sam’s voice was low and there was something behind his tone that Dean couldn’t quite decipher.

“Uh, yeah. Good. Sure. Are you okay, Sam? How’s your hand?” Dean glanced at the freshly applied bandages before trying to read Sam’s eyes again. “Are the grafts healing okay?”

“I don’t want to fight anymore, Dean.” Sam leaned down and slid his hand up the side of Dean’s neck until he was cupping Dean’s jaw.

“Sam, what –“ Dean felt the panic rise in his chest as Sam locked eyes with his. The intimacy of Sam’s touch startled Dean but his body reacted involuntarily, leaning into the warm, wet press of Sam’s hand. The words caught in his throat as Sam leaned down and gently pressed their lips together.

It was like an explosion let off in Dean’s chest when their mouths touched. Years of furious, desperate emotion gushed through his body as Sam’s pink lips melded with his. Dean’s staunch façade dissolved and he heard a gasp escape his own throat, dissolving into Sam’s mouth. Sam turned his head slightly and slipped his tongue between Dean’s lips, washing peppermint sweet over Dean’s taste buds. The flavor of Sam’s saliva beneath the toothpaste was so foreign and yet so familiar. It was like bittersweet nostalgia, like sleeping in a warm bed in a real home, something Dean could barely remember. It felt so good, so right. All the angst and darkness that had built up inside him instantly washed away.

Past the initial shock of contact, Dean kissed Sam back, hungry and desperate, trying to make up for lost time. He was already rock hard in his jeans, joints quivering with deep-muscle tension that ached through his body. Dean wanted to grab on to every second that this lasted, waiting for the dream to end, expecting to wake up with his face pressed against the cold impala window or a scratchy hotel pillow.

It didn’t happen though, the illusion didn’t fade. Instead Dean’s hands instinctually reached out to Sam, pulling at his shoulder and hip, bringing him closer. He felt Sam grin into the kiss before taking step back toward the room’s single queen sized bed, pulling Dean with him. He flicked at the towel where it was tucked in at his hip as their lips separated.

It was almost like seeing Sam for the first time as the thin terry cloth fell away. Sam was no longer off limits. They were adults, they were both clearly on board with what was happening, and Dean was suddenly beyond being afraid or guilty. He stood up and pulled Sam’s naked body back against his clothed one, taking his mouth in another deep, desperate kiss.

Dean didn’t hold back. The hunger burning inside him had its claws in the control center of his brain. He was finally quenching the thirst that had plagued him for so long. Beads of water still clung to Sam’s skin and hair from his shower and cool drops of it dripped down the back of Dean’s wrist as he raked his hand up the back of Sam’s neck.

Sam’s hands pushed Dean’s jacket off his shoulders and slid down to the waist of his jeans, thumbing open the button and dragging down the zipper. He could feel Sam’s bare erection pressing into his hip through his pants and wanted nothing more than to dry up the moisture on Sam’s body using nothing but his own naked skin. He let Sam go for a moment and finished shucking off his jeans and boxers. Sam backed onto the bed, scooting toward the headboard and pushing the garish bed spread onto the floor. Dean climbed on after Sam, dragging his shirt off over his head, and crawling up between his legs to claim his brother’s mouth again, a blissful growl emanating from low in his throat.

Dean pulled away for a moment and looked down at Sam, his hazel eyes had gone blue and dark. His mouth was open, bright and panting. Dean groaned at the sight and canted his hips against Sam’s. The hard curve of his cock slid across Sam’s inner thigh and the tip pressed into the tender, still damp, flesh of his balls. The sensation made Dean see stars for a moment as he imagined sinking into his brother’s body, something he had dreamt of countless nights before. But this was different, this was real. This was for keeps.

“God, Sam are you sure? There’s no coming back from this…” Dean panted, resting his forehead against Sam’s as he closed his eyes and braced for rejection. Instead, Sam used his height advantage to twist his body and flip Dean over onto his back. The movement took Dean’s breath away and when he looked up into his brother’s face Sam was grinning wide and his eyes burned, lusty and eager. Sam’s breath was heaving with arousal, just for him, just for Dean.

“I want this too, Dean.” Sam kissed him again, softer this time, sensual and slow, letting his brother know he meant it. “I want you inside me. Got myself ready for you…” Sam grabbed Dean’s hand and pulled it down to the curve of his lower back, guiding Dean’s fingers to the cleft of his ass. Dean felt the bandage on Sam’s wrist graze his fingers as he pulled his hand away, leaving Dean to discover the slick heat waiting for him. Dean probed a finger lower, letting it barely skirt the supple edge of Sam’s worked open hole.  
“Fuck, Sammy…” Dean’s voice caught in his throat and Sam slipped his tongue into his mouth again. His ass tipped up against Dean’s fingers, inviting them to explore.

After a kiss that left Dean breathless, hard, and leaking desperately against his belly, Sam sat up and straddled Dean’s abdomen. He reached back and palmed Dean’s dick, jacking it slowly a few times before leaving it to rest against his ass crack. He took Dean’s right hand and guided it to his own huge, hard cock, still smiling down at Dean.

“So fucking wet for you, Dean.”

Dean’s thumb swiped over the head of Sam’s erection as the words dripped like honey from his brother’s lips. Precome glazed Dean’s fingers as they glided over Sam who shut his eyes and bit his lip at Dean’s touch.

“Fuck, yes you are…”

Dean stroked Sam’s length several times, milking out more of the slick. Dean watched as a large drop welled up and dripped onto Sam’s shaft. Dean swiped his fingers through it and sucked his slick digits between his kiss-swollen lips, savoring the salty, slightly bitter taste. Sam groaned at the sight of Dean’s plush lips, now wet with his juices. He reached back to slip the head of Dean’s cock between his cheeks, pressing the tip against his quivering hole. Sam pushed his hips back and bore down against the sizeable intrusion.  
The sensation of being engulfed in Sam was so intense that Dean was sure he must be hallucinating. Dean’s body was tense and hard, he couldn’t breathe for a moment as he felt Sam’s body give way. Sam slid down Dean’s length excruciatingly slowly as if he were trying to make sure Dean felt every centimeter of his cock disappearing into the secret depths of Sam’s body.

Dean’s spine arched from the pleasure. His eyes slammed shut and he forced himself to focus on a spot far away in his mind, somewhere removed from the too-intense bliss of finally being engulfed in the only place his cock ever really wanted to be. He could hear the sobs leaving his throat and felt tears splash at the corner of his eyes as Sam took him to the hilt. Dean was inside his brother, completely. Tight and hot and finally, Dean couldn’t think straight. The lust swirling in his brain was like the most potent of drugs. He was right, there was no going back. Dean would be a junkie for Sam’s touch forever.

Sam’s hands came to rest on Dean’s pecs and he began rocking his hips gently. Dean was lost, letting the sensation take him, his brother’s weight moving above him was the only thing keeping him anchored to his body. He was moaning like a whore and could feel the sounds reverberating in the small room. He let his hands slide up Sam’s veiny forearms, up over the gentle curve of his biceps and shoulders, trailing down his chest, finding the hairs there still scattered with water droplets.

Dean’s hands continued mapping Sam’s flesh, running up his sides, down his chest, and smoothing over the fine hairs on his brother’s thighs. As Dean felt his orgasm coiling up at the base of his spine, something began nagging at the edge of his consciousness. It was just a tickle at first, a whisper, overshadowed by the intense pleasure radiating out of his core, but as Dean gripped Sam’s thighs and thrust up into his heat, the alarm in his head got louder and louder. Dean was so close to the precipice that he consciously tried to ignore the warnings but the concern wouldn’t leave, despite his impending orgasm. It was the absence of something, the seed of a question, enough to make him look at Sam. Really look.

Dean shifted his eyes up to Sam who was writhing radiant and gorgeous above him. Water droplets from the tips of Sam’s hair dripped onto his shoulders and trickled down his chest. His eyes glinted in the low light, casting down on Dean. For a moment, just a flash as his pleasure washed face looked down at Dean, Sam’s golden-blue cat eyes went white and milky pale only to flicker back to normal as he continued to ride Dean’s cock.

The horror and realization splashed upon Dean’s consciousness like a bucket of ice water but his body didn’t catch up as quickly. Sam tightened around him and Dean felt the spasm begin spiraling up from his balls. In an instant Dean was gone, coming deep inside of Sam’s doppelganger. Dean’s scream caught in his throat as his body shuddered and twitched with the power of his orgasm. He tried to fight but his muscles weren’t listening, his mind was exploding with endorphins and his reality was fragmenting around him.

“That’s right, Dean. Give yourself to me.” It knew. The creature who had taken Sam’s form smiled at Dean with a razor-toothed grin. Sam’s voice was not his own and his body went into flux before Dean’s eyes. It still bore Sam’s face and form but his skin shifted in ripples, changing color and texture like water flowing over slate. Dean was still buried balls deep as Sam’s tan complexion faded to grey and his skin became cold and slick. Rivulets of water dripped down his face and chest, over the back of Dean’s hands where they clung to Sam’s muscular thighs. Thighs that should bear wounds and bandages from skin needed fix Sam’s wounds. How had he been so blind?

Dean tried to pull away but his hands had adhered to the thighs of the creature. His palms tingled and began to burn even as the flesh under his hands became icy cold. It was all an illusion. He softening erection was still inside the monster and pain began radiating out where once only slick, hot pleasure had been.

“Don’t fight. It will just make it worse.” Sam’s face was split by an inky black mouth lined with needle-like, bright white teeth. It leaned down over Dean’s prone and struggling form, its breath pouring cold and moist over Dean’s face. He cringed away from the foul, swampy, rotting odor that filled his nostrils. A sound almost like a human laugh reverberated in the kelpie’s throat as its tongue slithered out slimy and vile over Dean’s cheek.

“Fuck you, you disgusting son of a bitch.” Dean put all the energy he could muster into bucking his hips up and simultaneously throwing his weight sideways to try and tip the beast’s center of gravity. He shoved as hard as he could against its thighs using his stuck hands. The movement made Dean cry out in pain as the tender flesh of his groin tried to separate from the monster’s adhesive trap. The creature faltered and for a moment Dean had leverage. He was able to get his left leg up under his body and continued the movement. He and the kelpie, still bound together, toppled to the ground, rolling and tumbling into the wall with a loud, wet crash.

“I have hunted these waters for millennia, Dean. I have you exactly where I want you, there is no escape.” The creature gnashed its teeth in Dean’s face as it spit out its foul words. “My only regret is that your brother isn’t here to watch,” it mocked.

Dean was almost blinded from the searing pain in his groin but he wasn’t about to let the beast take him without a fight. His wounds burned as he tried to upend the creature again. The monster was too strong and now it was clearly toying with him. If it kept him alive long enough to figure a way out of this then Dean didn’t care. He’d let the thing bat him around the room all night if it meant he could kill it. The weapons were so close but Dean was pinned fast under the creature’s shifting weight. The kelpie’s disgusting laugh filled the room as it watched him writhe desperately beneath it.

Its body was huge and sagging wet against Dean, its pores seeped vile, black water that smelled worse than sewage. He could feel it changing, its mass increasing, as Dean kept his eyes on the iron pile on the floor. The once human thighs that still straddled his hips were filling out and the bones were lengthening. Dean’s pelvis was being dragged upward as the beast grew. His skin where it was adhered to the creature felt as if it were on fire.

“Stop fighting you little worm. What I wouldn’t give to hear your lungs fill with water.” It was sounding angrier now as he continued to thrash and fight.

Dean wondered why it didn’t just tear him apart now, what the purpose of the game was. Maybe there was some biological reason it didn’t eat him on the spot. Perhaps it needed to change to consume him.  
“Get the fuck off my brother you disgusting piece of shit!” Sam’s booming voice filled the room catching both Dean and the monster off-guard. He had managed to let himself in and fling the door open without alerting either of them to his presence. The beast above Dean twisted its hulking form in shock. Its muscles rippled under Dean’s hands as it shifted to react, but Sam was too fast for it.

Dean cried out as he was dragged with the monster’s movement, the throbbing ache in his lower half caused his vision to waver as he watched Sam. His brother was made of graceful rage as he lunged toward the kelpie. Sam’s long right arm dipped down and gripped the handle of the old machete that hung forgotten out of the open duffel bag as he crossed the short space. The creature was billowing with fury, forgetting the man adhered to its flesh. Its teeth flashed as its disfigured, morphing arms reached toward Sam.

Dean twisted his body, giving every last ounce of energy he had into pulling the monster away from Sam, hoping to give his brother the opening he needed. Dean howled in pain as he watched the machete make contact with the curve of the creature’s neck. Sam cleaved down with all his weight, both hands gripping the blade’s wooden handle. The metal hacked violently into the ropey, grey tissue of the monster’s body. The lack of resistance startled Sam and Dean equally. As Dean’s consciousness flickered, he saw Sam crash into his deformed double with his full weight, sinking the blade into its torso even further. It was almost as if its bones were made of cartilage. The blade had lodged deep in the monster’s chest, slicing its shape-shifting, black blood pumping heart in two.

The momentum drove the tangled heap of monster, Dean, and Sam into the wall. Dean’s shoulder bore the brunt of the impact and his neck twisted awkwardly against the baseboard. He let the blackness take him away from the hideous, dying shrieks of the creature and the searing pain in his loin and hands.

 

_____________

 

Sam stood up and circled the beast, kicking it back toward the bed and away from Dean. It slumped into the carpet with a wet, crunchy groan. Sam smashed his boot heel into the cheekbone that once resembled his own face, now grey and streaked with water and blue-black blood. A gurgling sound had replaced the hideous roar that the creature made when Sam interrupted its struggle with Dean.

Sam knew he had sprung into action later than he should have but he was still somewhat drugged up when the cab let him out in front of the motel. It was an upsetting and frustrating day and the twenty minute cab ride had set them back almost fifty dollars. His key was almost in the lock when he heard the loud, blissful moans that were most definitely Dean’s emanating from behind the door. Something about the sounds gave Sam pause. Instead of angrily barging in and screaming at his brother for being an inconsiderate pussy-hound, he backed up to look through the curtains first. It probably saved both their lives.

The sight that greeted him made Sam stumble backwards. He had to close his eyes and shake his head to be sure it wasn’t the opiates in his system making him hallucinate. It took Sam several beats to assess and then accept that it was a man writhing astride Dean. It took his hands running over his face and a change of angle to fully comprehend that the man his brother was fucking was a carbon copy of Sam himself. The realization was like a hard, sharp slap across Sam’s face, exactly what he needed to get his instincts to take over. He had to save Dean. The kelpie had fooled Sam all too easily and it had gotten even craftier to trap his brother.

Sam was sucked out of his thoughts by the sickening sounds of the creature beginning to decompose. Just like the hand that had jellied and peeled away from Sam’s flesh the night of his encounter with the beast, the monster’s body was rapidly decaying and its now gelatinous body was falling away from Dean.

Sam knelt at his brother’s side side. Dean’s cheek was pressed against the yellowing white paint of the floorboard and his torso was twisted awkwardly. He was out cold. The softening heap of creature still draped over Dean’s stomach and thighs. Sam slipped his arm under Dean’s upper body, tenderly lifted, and pulled to straighten his spine before laying him back on the carpet. Dean’s hand peeled away from the kelpie’s thigh as it softened. His arm fell to the floor with a soft thud, palm up and limp. Sam’s own wounds throbbed at the sight. The skin looked almost blistered and was bright pink but thankfully there didn’t appear to be any blood or tearing. Dean hadn’t pulled away as viciously as Sam had so it didn’t look any worse than severe sunburn upon closer inspection.

No longer worried about getting stuck himself, Sam worked to pull the beast’s body away from Dean as tenderly as he could. There was some resistance as he lifted the creature’s leg, causing Dean to groan and stir. Sam gave a small sigh of relief as he examined the angry red skin of Dean’s groin. It looked like a nasty chemical burn, worse than his hands, but all the skin seemed to be intact. He probably wouldn’t need skin grafts. The creature had caught Dean in a more compromising position but it prevented him from being able to pull away like Sam had.

“Dean? Dean. Wake up. We’ve got to move you.” Sam patted Dean’s cheek and shook his shoulder. Normally, he could lift his brother but Sam was still recovering from his own run in with the kelpie. He didn’t want to risk it.

It took Sam a few minutes of patient coaxing but eventually Dean came to. He was disoriented and his confusion filled eyes blinked rapidly as Dean took in his surroundings. Once he focused on Sam and started to remember what happened, he pulled away out of fear. Dean tried to push himself up off the floor only to discover the burns on both of his palms. He gasped from the pain and slumped back against the wall.

“Dean, stop you have to trust me, it’s ME.” Sam held Dean’s shoulders, all too aware of his brother’s nudity and vulnerability. “Try and calm down, I killed it. It’s okay.”

“Sam, I – fuck! Sam…” Dean was processing a lot of thoughts and emotions and his voice was no more than a breathy, trembling whisper. Sam held Dean’s eye contact as best he could and kept his face calm and expression free. Dean cast his eyes over to the enormous translucent blob and huge pool of ink-like blood that was seeping into the carpet.

“The cops…” Dean whispered and looked back up at Sam.  
“I’m pretty sure the kelpie made sure there wouldn’t be any interruptions. I’ve been here for a while. No one’s coming. I’m not sure if everyone’s dead or what but I’m sure someone would have shown up by now. You weren’t exactly being quiet…” There was no way the motel’s other guests or the manager would have failed to call 911 by now. This was a sleepy town but Dean’s moans alone were enough to have warranted a visit from the manager.

Dean was right to be concerned but Sam realized shortly after dispatching the creature that there was no one else at the motel – no one alive, anyway. The monster had planned the attack on Dean carefully. It let Sam get away too easily before but it had hunted Dean with precision. This time it was calculated, patient, and it had used the right bait.

“Sam, did you see what we…?” Dean looked so helpless. His lip quivered and his eyes were wet.

“Don’t worry about it now, Dean. Let’s get you cleaned up and bandaged. I don’t think it’s that bad.” Sam slid his arm under Dean’s and wrapped it around his back. With his shoulder in Dean’s armpit, he gave Dean the leverage needed to stand without the use of his hands.

As he helped Dean into the bathroom, Sam couldn’t help but feel the déjà vu of his own brush with the kelpie. In the fluorescent light he took a better look at Dean’s body and confirmed there was no blood. There was a contiguous, bright red lesion stretching across Dean’s groin, upper thighs, and lower abdomen but, besides being puffy and very tender looking, the skin was unbroken. It was a miracle given how bound to the creature he had been. Its rapid death may have saved Dean’s life. It certainly had prevented him from losing the use of his hands not to mention his more sensitive parts.  
Sam sat on the toilet while Dean took a low-pressure, lukewarm shower. He stared at the pink tiled floor and let the gravity of what he had witnessed sink into him. He thought he heard Dean crying beneath the sound of the shower but he wasn’t sure.

_____________

 

“Dean?” Sam’s voice was soft and dispassionate. He’d been so gentle with Dean after saving his life. It was making the situation even harder. Dean didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t come up with the words he wanted to say. He could tell Sam had seen everything. He’d walked in as Dean was tongue, fingers, and cock deep in the kelpie who was wearing Sam as a disguise. Hell, Dean didn’t even really know what to do with that information himself, much less how to handle the thought of Sam knowing his deepest, darkest secret.

“Dean, are you okay?” Sam sounded more concerned the second time he called to him from the other side of the Pepto-pink shower curtain. Dean sniffed back the tears he knew were running down his face and tried to clear his throat before responding.

“I’m pretty fucking far from okay, Sammy.” As soon as his brother’s name left his lips, Dean broke down. He slumped forward against the shower wall, resting his weight on his forearms, and slid down to his knees as sobs racked his body.

Sam pulled back the shower curtain and shut off the water before draping a towel around Dean’s shoulders. Dean shut his eyes and shook his head. He was going to lose Sam again, he knew it, and this time it might be for good. The flood of pain he’d submerged over the past four years came pouring out. The damage to his body felt like a paper cut in comparison.

“I was so fucking weak, God. I should have known. It’s so obvious now. Of course it wasn’t you. I just wanted it so badly. I just… I’m so sorry, Sam. I never… You were never supposed to know.” Dean wasn’t sure if his words made sense between the sobs but he let Sam help him up and move him out of the bathroom. Sam sat Dean down on the edge of the bed and knelt on the floor in front of him.

“Dean, please look at me.”

Dean let his swollen eyes flicker up to Sam’s face, despite how afraid of what he would see there. Sam was so beautiful, so perfect. How could he have ever thought that thing was his gorgeous little brother?

“You have to stop beating yourself up. The kelpie tricked you just like it tricked me. It’s been killing people for centuries so it’s pretty fucking good at this, you know? It hunted us, it figured out our weak spots, and it attacked.” Dean knew Sam’s words were true but it didn’t assuage his guilt or ease the sickening knot in his stomach.

“I know it’s more complicated than that but I need you to let me treat your wounds. I get that you’re upset but please let me help you and then we can figure out the rest. Okay?” Sam was right, Dean nodded in agreement.

Dean watched Sam carefully as he gathered the first aid kit and returned to Dean’s bedside. He put a burn salve on Dean’s palms and paused to look for silent confirmation in Dean’s eyes before applying it to his more delicate areas. Dean just held his breath and stared up at the water-stained ceiling as Sam spread the cool ointment over his wounds. Dean’s injured skin throbbed but the soothing touch of Sam’s hands as they applied the cream was already making him feel better. After carefully bandaging up the area, Sam handed Dean a pair of boxers and helped him put them on over the gauze that now crisscrossed his genitals.

“Lie down, I’ll be right back.”

Dean slipped gingerly under the covers. His palms were aching but he was still able to rub them together to help the salve soak in. They’d be back to normal in a few days and it was best they got some air to help the healing process. His abdomen, groin, and upper thighs were a bit worse for wear but the bandages were already making it easier to move. Dean let out a soft sigh as he stretched out on the bed and tenderly pulled the sheet up over his bare stomach.

“Here take these.” Sam handed Dean a cup of water and gave Dean two of the Percocet he had picked up from the hospital pharmacy before leaving Poughkeepsie. After helping Dean sit up slightly to swallow the meds, Sam went to work cleaning up the creature’s remains.

The machete came in handy again as he hacked the kelpie into more manageable pieces. Sam bundled them up in the black garbage bags they always kept in the trunk. Dean faded in and out of sleep as his brother showered, dressed, and finally sat down on the other side of the bed.  
“Are you still awake?”

“Yeah, Sam.” Dean’s voice was ragged and faint but he felt a million times better floating in his marshmallow, Percocet cloud. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. You’d do the same for me.”

Dean nodded even though Sam couldn’t see him in the darkened room.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” Sam’s voice trailed off softly at the end of the question, like there was more there but he didn’t have the words.

“I made myself a promise, Sam. That we couldn’t be together like that anymore and that I wasn’t going to take advantage –”

“Take advantage?” Sam cut him off, “Dean, I’ve loved you for as long as I can fucking remember. I wanted you since I knew what my dick was for and you thought you were taking advantage of me?”

“You were just a kid, Sam…”

“I was old enough to know that I wanted you. I was in love with you, Dean! But you shut me out and I never understood why. You just kept pushing me away and then Dad… It was part of what helped me make the decision to go to Stanford in the first place. I didn’t think you wanted me anymore…” Sam’s voice cracked at the end and Dean heard him sniff back tears.

It was so fucking ridiculous. It was like trying to resist was ripping them both apart at the seams. What was the fucking point? Dean shook his head and let the room spin from the drugs, flushing away more of the bitterness and fear.

“Come here.” Dean whispered. Sam crawled up on the bed and curled himself around Dean, burying his face in the crook of his neck just like he had when they were kids. Sam’s face against Dean’s neck felt like heaven. He had missed their closeness so much. It was like a healing light washing over his soul.

“Do you still feel that way, Sam?” Dean flinched, not sure he really wanted the answer.

“Of course I do, Dean.” Sam’s voice was filled with relief and love. He pulled himself out of the comfortable bend of Dean’s body and slid his bandaged hand up the side of Dean’s face, tilting it toward him. Sam pressed his lips against Dean’s softly, reverently, almost asking for permission.

Dean couldn’t help the whimper that left his throat as their mouths melded together. Sam sighed contentedly in return and wrapped his long arms around Dean, pulling him closer. Dean lost himself in the wet sweetness of the kiss, letting Sam cradle and soothe him. They dozed for a while in the quiet, kissing softly, both knowing they couldn’t really relax until their work was done.

_____________

  
The garbage bags full of the creature’s remains hit the bottom of the shallow grave with a wet, sickening plop. There was no evidence that the jelly-like remnants of the kelpie’s corpse required their normal disposal routine, but Sam and Dean were in silent agreement as they loaded the sacks in the Impala and drove out to a spot near the train tracks to dig a hole for a good, old fashioned salt and burn. It was still dark but the violet pink tint of sunrise hinted at the horizon when Dean lit the match, ready to scorch whatever was left of the monster.

They had killed so many other creatures and yet this case had dredged up so much personal misery that Dean’s stomach lurched just thinking about it. He glanced over his shoulder at Sam who gave him a soft, somewhat awkward smile, his dimples little clefts of black in the flicker of the flame. Dean dropped the match in and the gasoline Sam had poured over the rock salt caught fire with a loud whoosh. He let the fire purge the black residue from his mind. It didn’t matter anymore. Everything had been brought to light and now they just had to work through what it meant for their future together.

“It’s going to be okay, Dean.” Sam rested his palm on Dean’s back reassuringly, clicking off the flashlight and stowing it in his pocket.

“I know, Sam. It’s us. We’re always okay.” Dean’s attempt at his normal cocky flamboyance fell flat as he turned to face his brother.

“I mean it, Dean. I know how messed stuff has been lately and I know this complicates everything but –” Dean was done talking, done worrying, and done trying to do the right thing. He pressed his lips against Sam’s.

Sam only faltered for a moment, the shock rapidly melted away and his lips parted gently. This wasn’t the first time Dean had tasted the illicit, pink interior of Sam’s mouth but this time was different. This was saying goodbye to the way things had been since they reunited. This was Dean letting his real feelings out of the shadows to the one person he could ever hope would understand. This was no longer being afraid of complicated, messy, or wrong. This was making their own rules and allowing themselves this one happiness – the only either of them were likely to have in this life.

Sam smiled into the kiss, his hand running up the back of Dean’s neck. The fire beside them was waning already, the wet mess of monster goo not particularly conducive to burning. Dean pulled away after a few more dips into the heavenly heat of Sam’s mouth and looked at his brother in the rapidly fading light.

“You’re sure about this?”

“God, yes. We spend so much time fighting… I just want one less thing to battle. We can have this.”  
Dean touched his forehead against Sam’s for a moment before pulling back and kissing the tip of his nose. Sam chuckled as they released one another and bent down to pick up the shovel. He scooped up some earth and chucked it down into the smoldering hole.

“I can’t believe I had to dig and now fill this stupid hole all by myself. I’m wounded too, you know.” Sam gave Dean his best bitch face but it faded as their eyes locked in the soft lavender light of the breaking dawn. Dean saw the love there, unshielded. It made his heart seize up and he knew things would never be the same. So much for simpler times.


End file.
